From Dusk
by Slash is the Way
Summary: What if the Twilight Saga was re-written with Jacob as the Protagonist? What if instead of Bella being the new girl in Forks High it was Jacob? What would happen when the wolf warrior and the cold one parts crossed and their destiny was already written? Would the two of them be able to exist in peace? I still suck at summaries Jakeward M/M don't like don't read.


**So I just got to thinking what if instead of the whole twilight saga being surrounded around Bella and Edward it was Jacob and Edward. To me it'll be so much more drama ... Vampire/Werewolf much more interesting than Vampire/Human. I take no credit for this work it's all Stephanie Meyer ... I just decided to twist it. :) I own nothing. I hope it doesn't suck.**

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**Chapter I**

**First Impression**

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State was a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was to Forks that I now exiled myself- an action that I took with great horror. I know that 'technically' live in Forks seeing as I grew up on the Reservation but it doesn't count. I've barely left the invisible boundary that the elders of the 'tribe' have placed and I've barely seen any of Forks unless it was to visit Charlie, my dad's best friend. I detested Forks.  
I loved Reservation. I loved the sun that's barely there but only seems to cover La Push Beach. I love the beach. I love my friends.

"Jacob," my dad said to me - the last of a thousand times - before I got into Charlie's cruiser. "You don't have to do this."

My dad looks like me, except older and in a wheelchair. I felt a spasm of panic takeover. How could I leave my dad, my _crippled_ dad, to fend for himself ? Of course he had Harry and Sue Clearwater who would make sure he's never hungry, and of course I was going to get a job and send him money so the bills would probably get paid, and Charlie would come and pick him up for their frequent fishing trips instead of me having to drop him but still...

"I want to go," I lied. I'd always been a bad liar, but I'd been saying this lie so frequently lately that it sounded almost convincing now.

"I'll see you soon," he insisted. "You can come home whenever you want "

"I'm hardly moving to another state dad. It's just Forks. It's just school. It's just ..."

"Not the Reservation!" My dad said with a strong conviction. "It's not safe outside of these borders son. But if you insist that you must leave you know I won't stop you."

"I'm staying by Charlie dad. You'll see me every time you come over. Plus Charlie is the Chief of Police. He can Protect me."

"Not from everything." My dad whispered, so softly I'm not sure if I actually heard it or it was my imagination.

Charlie had really been fairly nice about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely pleased  
that I was coming to live with him. He'd already gotten me registered for high school and was going to help finish build my car ... the rabbit. For now I had my truck, which I also built, and it was already by Charlie. But it was sure to be awkward with Charlie. Neither of us was what anyone would call  
verbose, and I didn't know what there was to say regardless. I knew he was more than a little confused by my decision, reservation kids rarely left and if they did if was the whole family. Even if they did move from the reservation to Forks , which rarely happens, no kid from the reservation has EVER gone to school on the mainland. God alone knows why but just because I've decided to leave the rez doesn't mean I have to fall back on my education.

By now we were on our way. Away from La Push. I stared out the windows in silence. It was beautiful, of course. Everything was green: the trees, their  
trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves. I loved it. I loved how familiar it looked. It reminded me that although I felt like worlds away I was still home.

Eventually we made it to Charlie's. He still lived in the small, two-bedroom house that he'd bought with his ex-wife in the early days of their marriage. There, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was my truck. It was a faded red color, with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab. I loved it. It was my dad's but since he lost his ability to walk I had rebuilt the engine and had it to myself. Plus, it was one of those solid iron affairs that never get damaged - the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed. Before I knew it, it was time to step out of the cruiser.

It took only one trip to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard. The room was familiar; it had been belonged to Isabella, Charlie's daughter but she stopped visiting a few years ago so the room was free. was grateful for Charlie letting me stay here. The wooden floor, the light blue walls, the peaked ceiling, the yellowed lace curtains around the window, I remember them all from when Charlie and Billy used to force the two of us to play together. The desk in the corner of the room now held a secondhand computer, with the phone line for the modem stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack. This was a stipulation from my father, so that we could stay in touch easily - although I keep telling him that he's always over here and I'm going to see him. The rocking chair from Isabella's baby days was still in the corner. There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would have to share with Charlie. It was something I was used to. Sharing. I had to share a bathroom with my entire family - my mother, father and my older twin sisters. Well that's before things changed.

One of the best things about Charlie is he doesn't hover. He left me alone to unpack and get settle. It was nice to be alone, not to have to smile and look pleased; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at the sheeting rain and let just a few tears escape. I wasn't in the mood to go on a real crying jag. I would save that for bedtime, when I would have to think about the coming morning. Forks High School had a frightening total of only three hundred and fifty-seven - now fifty-eight - students. All of the kids here had grown up together - their grandparents had been toddlers together. I would be the new boy from the big city, a curiosity, a freak. I knew that everyone would be curious about me. No one from the rez ever socialized with these pale faces. I was way more tanned than they were, my skin taking on a russet colour which was normal for the rez but weird for Forks. I had always been slender, but soft somehow, not an athlete - sports never really interested me. When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, I took my bag of bathroom necessities and went to the communal bathroom to clean myself up after the day of travel. I looked at my face in the mirror. Maybe it was the light, but I looked sallower, unhealthy - tired. Facing my pallid reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I was lying to myself. It wasn't just physically that I'd never fit in.  
I didn't relate well to people my age but I blame that to only spending all my time with my dad. If I wasn't with my dad I was with my books or working with cars. That's probably why instead of being a Freshman at my 15 years they decided to place me with the Juniors. As if I need another reason to stand out.

Maybe the truth was that I didn't relate well to people, period. Even my sisters, who I was closer to than anyone else on the planet, was never in harmony with me, never on exactly the same page. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. And tomorrow would be just the beginning of things changing. I didn't sleep well that night, even after I was done crying. The constant whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn't fade into the background. Not I minded. Anything to remind me I was still home. That I wasn't too far away from the rez. With those thoughts in my head I let the rain lull me to sleep.

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning. You could never see the sky here like you could on the reservation. Breakfast with Charlie was a quiet event. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me or else I wouldn't have damned myself to this place. Charlie left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three unmatching chairs and examined his small kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing was changed from what I remembered. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining handkerchief-sized family room was a row of pictures. First a wedding picture of Charlie and Isabella's mom- Renee I believe it was- in Las Vegas, then one of the three of them in the hospital after Isabella was born, followed by the procession of Isabella's school picture. It made me uncomfortable to see all the happy pictures of Charlie and his family when mine was in shambles. I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore.

I donned my jacket and headed out into the rain. It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door, and locked up. I was in a hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair. Inside the truck, it was nice and dry, the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume. The antique radio still worked due to the little tweaking I had the school wasn't difficult, though I'd never been there before.

The school was, like most other things, just off the highway. It was not obvious that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be the Forks High School, made me stop. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading front office. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot. I stepped out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door.

Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses.

The red-haired woman heard the door open and spoke without even looking up.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm Jacob Black," I informed her, and saw the immediate awareness light her eyes.

I was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt. Son of one of the La Push Reservation Elders away from the sacred rez!.  
"Of course," she said.

She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. "I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school." She brought several sheets to the counter to show me.

She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map, and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day. She smiled at me and hoped, like Charlie, that I would like it here in Forks. I smiled back as convincingly as I could.

When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad to see that most of the cars were older like mine, nothing flashy. At home the entire reservation was like a lower-income neighborhood. It was an uncommon thing to see a new Mercedes or Porsche anywhere in the rez far less on the school compound. The nicest car here was a shiny Volvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the thunderous volume wouldn't draw attention to me. I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now; hopefully I wouldn't have to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. I stuffed everything in my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, and sucked in a huge breath. I can do this, I lied to myself feebly. No one was going to bite me. I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck.

I kept my face held down as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with teenagers. My plain black jacket didn't stand out, I noticed with relief. Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black "3" was painted on a white square on the east corner.

The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I copied them. They were two girls, one a porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale, with light brown hair. My skin would definitely standout here.

I took the slip up to the teacher, a tall, balding man whose desk had a nameplate identifying him as Mr. Mason. He gawked at me when he saw my name - not an encouraging response - and of course I flushed tomato red. But at least he sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing me to the class. It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me in the back, but somehow, they managed. I kept my eyes down on the reading list the teacher had given me. It was fairly basic: Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already read everything during my free time. That was comforting... and boring.

When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, a gangly boy with skin problems and hair black as an oil slick leaned across the aisle to talk to me.

"You're Jacob Black, aren't you?" He looked like the overly helpful, chess club type. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me.

"Where's your next class?" he asked.

I had to check in my bag." Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building six."

There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes.

"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way..."Definitely over-helpful.

"I'm Eric," he added.

I smiled tentatively. "Thanks."

We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. I could have sworn several people behind us were walking close enough to eavesdrop. I hoped I wasn't getting paranoid.

"So, is this is a lot different than the Reservation?" he asked.

"Very."

"At least you're already accustomed to the weather."

"You're talking to me about the weather?."

"Um ... it's just that you look very tan?" he wondered.

"I'm part of an Indian Tribe," I told him.

"Like an actual tribe?."

"Rain dancing and all that."

He studied my face apprehensively, and I sighed. It looked like he didn't have a sense of humor. A few months of this and I'd forget how to use sarcasm. We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Eric walked me right to the door, though it was clearly marked.

"Well, good luck," he said as I touched the handle. "Maybe we'll have some other classes together." He sounded hopeful. I smiled at him vaguely and went inside.

The rest of the morning passed in about the same fashion. My Trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, who I would have hated anyway just because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. After two classes, I started to recognize several of the faces in each class. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. I tried to be diplomatic, but mostly I just lied a lot. At least I never needed the map.

One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. She was tiny, several inches shorter than my five feet ten inches, but her wildly curly dark hair made up a lot of the difference between our heights. I couldn't remember her name, so I smiled and nodded as she prattled about teachers and classes. I didn't try to keep up.

We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, who she introduced to me. I forgot all their names as soon as she spoke them. They seemed impressed by her bravery in speaking to me. The boy from English, Eric, waved at me from across the room. It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that I first saw them.

They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room. There were five of them. They weren't talking, and they weren't eating, though they each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. They weren't gawking at me, unlike most of the other students, so it was safe to stare at them without fear of meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. But it was none of these things that caught, and held, my attention.

They didn't look anything alike. Of the three boys, one was big - muscled like a serious weight lifter, with dark, curly hair. Another was taller, leaner, but still muscular, and honey blond. The last was lanky, less bulky, with untidy, bronze-colored hair. He was more boyish than the others, who looked like they could be in college, or even teachers here rather than students.

The girls were opposites. The tall one was statuesque. She had a beautiful figure, the  
kind you saw on the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, the kind that made  
every girl around her take a hit on her self-esteem just by being in the same room. Her  
hair was golden, gently waving to the middle of her back. The short girl was pixielike,  
thin in the extreme, with small features. Her hair was a deep black, cropped short and  
pointing in every direction.

And yet, they were all exactly alike. Every one of them was chalky pale, the palest of all the students living in this sunless town. Paler than an albino. They all had very dark eyes despite the range in hair tones. They also had dark shadows under those eyes - purplish, bruiselike shadows. As if they were all suffering from a sleepless night, or almost done recovering from a broken nose. Though their noses, all their features, were straight, perfect, angular. But all this is not why I couldn't look away.

I stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. They were faces you never expected to see except perhaps on the airbrushed pages of a fashion magazine. Or painted by an old master as the face of an angel. It was hard to decide who was the most beautiful - maybe the perfect blond girl, or the bronze-haired boy.

They were all looking away - away from each other, away from the other students, away from anything in particular as far as I could tell. As I watched, the small girl rose with her tray - unopened soda, unbitten apple - and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a runway. I watched, amazed at her lithe dancer's step, till she dumped her tray and glided through the back door, faster than I would have thought possible. My eyes darted back to the others, who sat unchanging.

"Who are they ?" I asked the girl from my Spanish class, whose name I'd forgotten.

As she looked up to see who I meant - though already knowing, probably, from my tone - suddenly he looked at her, the thinner one, the boyish one, the youngest, perhaps. He looked at my neighbor for just a fraction of a second, and then his dark eyes flickered to mine. He looked away quickly, more quickly than I could, though in a flush of embarrassment I dropped my eyes at once. In that brief flash of a glance, his face held nothing of interest - it was as if she had called his name, and he'd looked up in involuntary response, already having decided not to answer. My neighbor giggled in embarrassment, looking at the table like I did.

"That's Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one who left was Alice Cullen; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife." She said this under her breath.

I glanced sideways at the beautiful boy, who was looking at his tray now, picking a bagel to pieces with long, pale fingers. His mouth was moving very quickly, his perfect lips barely opening. The other three still looked away, and yet I felt he was speaking quietly to them.

Strange, unpopular names, I thought. The kinds of names grandparents had. But maybe that was in vogue here - small town names? I finally remembered that my neighbor was called Jessica, a perfectly common name.

"They are... very nice-looking." I struggled with the conspicuous understatement.

"Yes!" Jessica agreed with another giggle. "They're all together though - Emmett and Rosalie, and Jasper and Alice, I mean. And they live together."

Her voice held all the shock and condemnation of the small town, I thought critically. But, if I was being honest, I had to admit that on the Rez, it would have caused worse gossip.

"Which ones are the Cullens?" I asked. "They don't look related..."

"Oh, they're not. Dr. Cullen is really young, in his twenties or early thirties. They're all adopted. The Hales are brother and sister, twins - the blondes - and they're foster children."

"They look a little old for foster children."

"They are now, Jasper and Rosalie are both eighteen, but they've been with Mrs. Cullen since they were eight. She's their aunt or something like that."

"That's really kind of nice - for them to take care of all those kids like that, when they're so young and everything."

"I guess so," Jessica admitted reluctantly, and I got the impression that she didn't like the doctor and his wife for some reason. With the glances she was throwing at their adopted children, I would presume the reason was jealousy. "I think that Mrs. Cullen can't  
have any kids, though," she added, as if that lessened their kindness.

Throughout all this conversation, my eyes flickered again and again to the table where the strange family sat. They continued to look at the walls and not eat.  
"Have they always lived in Forks?" I asked.

"No," she said in a voice that implied it should be obvious, even to a new arrival like me. "They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska."

I felt a surge of pity, and relief. Pity because, as beautiful as they were, they were outsiders, clearly not accepted. Relief that I wasn't the only newcomer here, and certainly not the most interesting by any standard. As I examined them, the youngest, one of the Cullens, looked up and met my gaze, this time with evident curiosity in his expression. As I looked swiftly away, it seemed to me that his glance held some kind of unmet expectation.

"Which one is the boy with the reddish brown hair?" I asked.

I peeked at him from the corner of my eye, and he was still staring at me, but not gawking like the other students had today - he had a slightly frustrated expression. I looked down again.

"That's Edward. He's gorgeous, of course, but he doesn't date. Apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him. He also has no other friends outside of his family."

She sniffed, a clear case of sour grapes. I wondered when he'd turned her down. I bit my lip to hide my smile. Then I glanced at him again. His face was turned away,  
but I thought his cheek appeared lifted, as if he were smiling, too. After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. They all were noticeably graceful - even the big, brawny one. It was unsettling to watch. The one named Edward didn't look at me again. I sat at the table with Jessica and her friends longer than I would have if I'd been sitting alone. I was anxious not to be late for class on my first day. One of my new acquaintances, who considerately reminded me that her name was Angela, had Biology II with me the next hour. We walked to class together in silence. She was shy, too. When we entered the classroom, Angela went to sit at a black-topped lab table exactly like the ones I was used to. She already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables were filled but one. Next to the center aisle, I recognized Edward Cullen by his unusual hair, sitting next to that single open seat.

As I walked down the aisle to introduce myself to the teacher and get my slip signed, I was watching him surreptitiously. Just as I passed, he suddenly went rigid in his seat. He stared at me again, meeting my eyes with the strangest expression on his face - it was hostile, furious. I looked away quickly, shocked, going red again.  
I'd noticed that his eyes were black - coal black.

Mr. Banner signed my slip and handed me a book with no nonsense about introductions. I could tell we were going to get along. Of course, he had no choice but to  
send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room. I kept my eyes down as I went to sit by him, bewildered by the antagonistic stare he'd given me.

I didn't look up as I set my book on the table and took my seat, but I saw his posture change from the corner of my eye. He was leaning away from me, sitting on the extreme edge of his chair and averting his face like he smelled something bad. I stared in front ignoring him and tried to pay attention to the teacher. Unfortunately the lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I'd already studied with my sisters when I was bored. I took notes carefully anyways because I'd never had a formal teacher and there were bound to be things I didn't know, always looking down. I couldn't stop myself from peeking occasionally at the strange boy next to me. During the whole class, he never relaxed his stiff position on the edge of his chair, sitting as far from me as possible. I could see his hand on his left leg was clenched into a fist, tendons standing out under his pale skin. This, too, he never relaxed. He had the long sleeves of his white shirt pushed up to his elbows, and his forearm was surprisingly hard and muscular beneath his light skin. He wasn't nearly as slight as he'd looked next to his burly brother.

The class seemed to drag on longer than the others. Was it because the day was finally  
coming to a close, or because I was waiting for his tight fist to loosen? It never did; he  
continued to sit so still it looked like he wasn't breathing. What was wrong with him?  
Was this his normal behavior? I questioned my judgment on Jessica's bitterness at lunch  
today. Maybe she was not as resentful as I'd thought.

It couldn't have anything to do with me. He didn't know me from Adam. I peeked up at him one more time, and regretted it. He was glaring down at me again, his black eyes full of revulsion. As I flinched away from him, shrinking against my chair, the phrase if looks could kill suddenly ran through my mind.

At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump, and Edward Cullen was out of his seat. Fluidly he rose - he was much taller than I'd thought - his back to me, and he was out the door before anyone else was out of their seat. I sat frozen in my seat, staring blankly after him. He was so mean. It wasn't fair. I began  
gathering up my things slowly, trying to block the anger that filled me. For some reason, my temper always made me shake uncontrollable and I would look as though I was having a seizure.

"Aren't you Jacob Black?" a male voice asked.

I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced boy, his pale blond hair carefully gelled into orderly spikes, smiling at me in a friendly way. He obviously didn't think I smelled bad. Also if you couldn't figure it out by now I am gay. Which is why having someone as hot as Edward react so negatively towards me was more bothersome than it should be.

I nodded to him, with a smile.

"I'm Mike."

"Hi, Mike."

"Do you need any help finding your next class?"

"I'm headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it."

"That's my next class, too." He seemed thrilled, though it wasn't that big of a coincidence in a school this small.

We walked to class together; he was a chatterer - he supplied most of the conversation, which made it easy for me. He'd lived in California till he was ten, so he knew how I felt about moving, even though it's not exactly the same thing. It turned out he was in my English class also. He was the nicest person I'd met today.

But as we were entering the gym, he asked, "So, did you stab Edward Cullen with a pencil or what? I've never seen him act like that."

I cringed. So I wasn't the only one who had noticed. And, apparently, that wasn't Edward Cullen's usual behavior.

I decided to play dumb. "Was that the boy I sat next to in Biology?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "He looked like he was in pain or something."

"I don't know," I responded. "I never spoke to him."

"He's a weird guy." Mike said. "If I were lucky enough to sit by you, I would have talked to you."

I smiled at him before following him through the boy's locker room door. He was friendly and clearly admiring. Maybe I wasn't the only gay guy in this school. But it wasn't enough to ease my irritation. The Gym teacher, Coach Clapp, found me a uniform but didn't make me dress down for today's class.

I watched four volleyball games running simultaneously. The final bell rang at last. I walked slowly to the office to return my paperwork. The rain had drifted away, but the wind was strong, and colder. I wrapped my arms around myself.

When I walked into the warm office, I almost turned around and walked back out. Edward Cullen stood at the desk in front of me. I recognized again that tousled bronze hair. He didn't appear to notice the sound of my entrance. I stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to be free. He was arguing with her in a low, attractive voice. I quickly picked up the gist of the argument. He was trying to trade from sixth-hour Biology to another time - any other time.

I just couldn't believe that this was about me. It had to be something else, something that happened before I entered the Biology room. The look on his face must have been about another aggravation entirely. It was impossible that this stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike to me.

The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the room, rustling the papers on the desk, swirling my hair around my face. The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But Edward Cullen's back stiffened, and he turned slowly to glare at me - his face was absurdly handsome - with piercing, hate-filled eyes. For an instant, I felt a thrill of genuine fear, raising the hair on my arms. The look only lasted a second, but it chilled me more than the freezing wind. He turned back to the receptionist.

"Never mind, then," he said hastily in a voice like velvet. "I can see that it's impossible. Thank you so much for your help." And he turned on his heel without another look at me, and disappeared out the door.

I went meekly to the desk, my face white for once instead of red, and handed her the signed slip.

"How did your first day go, dear?" the receptionist asked maternally.

"Fine," I lied, my voice weak. She didn't look convinced.

When I got to the truck, it was almost the last car in the lot. I sat inside for a while, just staring out the windshield blankly. But soon I was cold enough to need the heater, so I turned the key and the engine roared to life. Moving from the reservation seemed like a bad idea now but there was no way I was going back. I missed my dad like crazy but I couldn't handle him anymore. I couldn't face the house at the Rez anymore. There was no way I was going back. Not now. I sighed deeply and snapped out of my thoughts. I headed back to Charlie's house, fighting tears the whole way there.

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**So that's chapter 1 ... most of the descriptions (like of the Cullens) I stole from the book but that's because I'm trying to keep it as close to the book as possible while still making it realistic cause obviously Jacob is not Bella so a lot of things won't be the same. I hope it didn't suck too much and you all continue reading. Read/Rate :)**


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